


Come a Little Closer

by orphan_account, pennygorgang



Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Body Shots, Dirty Talk, Dominant Eddie, Friends With Benefits, I, M/M, Powerbottom Eddie, Riding, They fuck in front of a mirror, am sorry for this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-03
Updated: 2019-09-03
Packaged: 2020-10-06 03:16:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20499968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account, https://archiveofourown.org/users/pennygorgang/pseuds/pennygorgang
Summary: Richie and Eddie are ex-friends with benefits, and Eddie is completely and totally sure that he hates Richie Tozier's gutsThat is until they run into each other at a party for a college Eddie doesn't even attend.





	Come a Little Closer

**Author's Note:**

> i am so sorry for this i wrote half of this while high oops sorry i won't proofread this for another week enjoy haha we love a powerbottom boy oh yeah VOMIT WARNING i forgot 
> 
> also follow our gc twitter @pennygorgang!!

Eddie is going to _kill_ Mike Hanlon. 

It isn’t like he had expected Mike to stick around with him for long; he didn’t. He had totally expected him to run off the minute that they walked through the doors, to disappear into the thick crowd of sweaty college students mingling throughout the house. 

What he hadn’t expected, however, was for Mike to give Richie Tozier an excited pat on the back. And he certainly hadn’t expected Mike to point in Eddie’s direction before taking off as he always did. 

Richie’s looking at him now, absently thanking Mike and shimmying over with a drink in his hand. 

“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me,” Eddie sighs under his breath, because it’s just his fucking luck that Richie fucking Tozier would waltz over to him and plop straight down beside him on this ugly floral couch.

His drink sloshes when he falls beside Eddie, and he grins when he yells in some stupid southern accent, “Edward! What the fuck are you doing here? This ain’t your college, sweetheart.” He doesn’t quite know what to say to that because, well, Richie isn’t wrong. This isn’t his college and he doesn’t belong here and his heart kind of hurts when Richie looks at him.

“I’m, uh,” Eddie squishes himself against the arm of the couch, but Richie just crowds in closer. “I’m visiting Mike before CMU starts back.” He looks around, laughs awkwardly and says, “I don’t even know why I’m here. I think we both know this really isn’t my scene.”

Richie hums into his drink, something fruity and sweet smelling and his breath smells of it too. “Ah, Carnegie Mellon. Forgot how smart you were.” He finishes the drink off with a huge swig that fills his cheeks. Eddie watches some girls dance, watches one laugh and fall down. He can feel Richie’s eyes on the side of his face. 

He barely hears Richie clear his throat over the music. He wishes he couldn’t hear at all when Richie says, “I’m really glad you’re here, dude. I really missed you.”

Eddie just looks at him, smiles bitterly and focuses on some abstract painting beside the crowded stairs. “Yeah, well, you avoided me like fucking gonherria after graduation.” Truth is, Richie didn’t really owe him anything. They had been high school friends, of course, and they had fucked quite a few times, but it wasn’t like they were in any sort of relationship. Eddie didn’t know why he was so bitter.

He can feel Richie staring at him again. He’s silent for a minute, a very very long minute. “Welp,” he finally says, and he pats Eddie’s knee a bit too roughly. “I’m gonna bounce. You know where to find me!” 

Eddie doesn’t.

He watches Richie shimmy back through the crowd, watches him bump his hips against some girls ass while he does and Eddie feels anger bubble up in his chest. 

He pushes it down as quickly as it comes and bites his cheek. It’s starting to get a bit too hot and a bit too loud, and Eddie is starting to get a bit too irritated.

He gets up off the couch, tells Mike he’s leaving and squeezes out the front door without another word. “Stupid fucking dick ruining everything,” he mumbles to himself, his shoes squishing against the wet grass. “Can’t even fucking tell me-- oh you’ve gotta be kidding me.”

In the driveway, nudged snugly behind his car, is none other than Richie Tozier’s hideous Focus. His license plate still reads, “Dickardo” and Eddie kind of wants to kick it off. He clenches his fists shut and grits his teeth together so hard that his head starts to hurt. 

If Eddie rudely bumps into a few people while storming into the buzzing kitchen, no one confronts him about it. 

Richie’s spread out across the center island, shirt tucked up past his nipples and he’s laughing with a lime wedge stuck between his teeth. He’s surrounded by girls and guys alike and they’re all giggling with him. 

When Eddie looms over him, Richie’s eyes light up and he grins around the lime wedged between his lips. “Richie, you’re blocking me in, dude.” 

Richie spits out the lime then, shooting up off the counter. “No! Eddie, you can’t leave yet! I just got here.”

Eddie folds his arms, his keys jingling with it and he clenches his fist around them. “Why are you so—“

“Hold that thought.”

Richie lays back again, laughing as he sticks the wedge back in his mouth. Eddie’s about to protest before some girl he doesn’t know hops up and straddles Richie’s waist. She’s laughing too, laughs as salt is being poured in a line down the trail of hair leading into Richie’s jeans.

Someone balances a shot in the dip between Richie’s ribs, and Eddie doesn’t know why he’s still fucking standing there. 

People cheer when she licks over the salt, laugh when she spills a little bit of the shot and cheer again when Richie pushes the lime into her mouth with his tongue. She gets off quickly, stumbles when she lands and Eddie is jostled by the crowd around the island. 

Richie’s laughing, high and sweet and Eddie thinks his own face is probably red. “Give me your keys, I’ll move it my fucking self since you’re too _incompetent_ to—“

“God, do you ever stop being such a prude?” Richie says, and Eddie hears people snicker into their drinks. 

If his face wasn’t red before, it’s most definitely tinted pink now. He balls his fists at his sides angrily. “I’m not a prude, I wanna go home. Now,” he pokes at Richie’s chest with his pointer finger, “Move. Your stupid. Fucking. Car.”

Richie settles back against the counter, shirt still wrinkled up around his chest and there’s already more salt being sprinkled on his happy trail. “Sounds like something a prude would say,” he laughs and so do the people around him and Eddie is suddenly reminded of why he hates Richie so fucking much. 

“Get. Up,” he tries one last time and it seems that they’ve completely gotten rid of the shot glasses as someone pours a glob of Fireball into the hollow of Richie’s pale stomach. 

“No can do, Spaghetti. I’m not wasting this body shot,” he says but it’s muffled by another fresh lime in his mouth. 

Something in Eddie snaps, and his face goes impossibly hot as his teeth grit together angrily. Groups of people cheer as he hops onto the counter, and he almost laughs with the look on Richie’s face. Almost. 

He settles both of his hands roughly on Richie’s hips, smooths his tongue over the line of salt and puckers his lips at the taste. He laps up the Fireball next, sucks at the space between Richie’s ribs and then makes a move for the lime, but stops himself bitterly. The crowd around them busts out laughing, and cheers can even be heard from the next room over.

“There. Body shot gone. Get a move on, Dickardo. I have places to--”

Before he can even finish his thought, he feels something warm and wet and horrifically chunky hit him in the back. He heard the gag before he felt the warmth and some girl beside him gets sick at the sight. Richie’s still in front of him with his nipples out, and Eddie is pretty sure he’s hard despite the fact that the guy on top of him just got thrown up on. 

Eddie gags at the feeling of his shirt sticking to his back now, and he hops off the counter in search of the bathroom. He passes Mike in the hallway, up against the wall talking to some curly headed blonde boy and he gives Eddie a sympathetic look as he scrambles away.

So yeah, he’s going to kill Mike Hanlon. First, he drags him to some stupid fucking party that he _knew_ Richie fucking Tozier was going to be at. To make matters worse, he told Richie where to find Eddie and then everything fucking spiraled out of control and now Eddie is wiping at a fucking vomit stain on the back of his shirt in some master bathroom.

The _back_ of his shirt. How does someone even get vomit on the back of their shirt?

As Eddie soaks more toilet paper and wipes at the chunky stain on his collar, he thinks of Richie’s lips. He hates him. He hates how much Richie gets to him.

Speak of the fucking devil and he’ll appear, because Richie Tozier jiggles the doorknob and says, “Hey Eds? Sorry you got puked on. Will you let me in?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

Eddie doesn’t answer, just sits on the toilet seat and scrubs angrily at his blue polo. He hears Richie sigh, hears his retreating footsteps and starts to feel a little bit bad. Maybe he was a bit too rough on Richie? Maybe he should— _the fuck?_

He hears Richie’s footsteps again, but this time he sees a butter knife shoot through the crack of the door, right between the lock and the slot. He watches as it wiggles back and forth and grimaces when the door swings open. 

Richie Tozier just picked the fucking lock. With a butter knife.

“What the fuck?”

Richie shrugs, knife in hand. “You wouldn’t let me in so I improvised.”

“Just,” Eddie presses the heel of his palms into his eyes, letting his soiled polo fall onto his lap. “Please just let me clean my shirt, then let me the fuck out.”

“I can help,” Richie says, and he grabs at Eddie’s shirt.

“No, I got it.”

“No, really I--

“I said I got it.”

Richie is crowding his space now, and Eddie is starting to get red-faced and angry again. “Dude, just let me help you clean--”

“Richie, I got it! I can fucking clean it myse--”

He can focus on killing Mike later, can focus on getting the hideous stain out of his shirt later; but he can’t focus on anything but the feeling of Richie’s lips the moment they’re on his. It’s not a good kiss; Richie’s lips are cracked dry and Eddie hasn’t kissed anyone since high school, but it’s Richie. It’s Richie.

He drops the shirt onto the floor, settles for wrapping his arms around Richie’s neck and then he’s being lifted under his armpits and sat snugly on the counter beside the sink. Richie’s tongue is in his mouth, on his neck and Eddie can feel him worming his way between his legs. Richie’s hands are all over him. 

He hops down off the counter fast, faster than he thought he could go and Richie is quick to follow him out of the bathroom.

Eddie finally gets a good look at the master bedroom of the house. It’s big with tacky paintings and a floral bedspread tucked nice and neat onto the corners of the bed. A huge vanity mirror sits against the wall, reflecting the bed and bookshelf and hideous flower arrangements that sit snugly on the wooden vanity set. 

Richie closes the bedroom door, loud and clumsy as he fiddles with the lock. Eddie pushes him back onto the bed, clambering on top of him when Richie says, “Yeah. You gonna fuck me, Eds? Just like old times? Make me beg for it?”

Eddie pulls back to look at him, takes in his already red face. “Something like that,” he says, and watches a grin fill Richie’s cheeks.

“God, I missed this,” Richie says and Eddie feels a twinge of sadness—no, anger—swell in his heart. Richie smooths his hands down his back, across the notches of his ribs and over his hips before Eddie grabs them roughly and slams them against the bed. 

“No touching,” he says coldly and Richie smiles with his teeth this time. Eddie kind of wants to punch him. He kind of wants to kiss him, too.

He kisses him.

Richie just laughs breathlessly into Eddie’s mouth, wiggles his hips beneath him and god, Eddie can feel how hard he is. 

He won’t stop fucking moving. No matter how much Eddie grinds his hips down into him, or how hard he holds his wrists to the bed, Richie still finds some way to wriggle and worm his way into sitting up and trying to flip them over. 

“I don’t even know how this is possible but college made you more annoying,” Eddie says, and he lets a soft laugh slip. Richie laughs too, but it gurgles into some cut off groan when he grinds his cock up and into Eddie’s and Eddie whimpers high and loud.

Richie moves to rip his wallet out of his jeans, flips it open and throws a condom onto the bed beside them. Eddie works at Richie’s belt, fingers fumbling to get it open before he stops himself. 

“Wait—where’s the lube?”

“The what?”

The song playing in the next room over is significantly louder than the last.

“Lube! The lube! Where is it?”

“Loop?”

“Lube!”

“Who the fuck is Luke?”

Eddie shakes his head, slipping off Richie’s middle. “Nope. You know what, it’s not worth—“

Richie grabs at his hips again, laughing lightheartedly. “Nooo, no I’m just messing with you,” he says, smooths his hands up Eddie’s sides. “I don’t have any though, so we’re gonna have to use spit.”

Eddie grimaces. They’d fucked their fair share of times in high school, but always had the lube to suffice and the thought of using spit made Eddie shiver. 

“It shouldn’t be a problem though, I can self suck.”

Eddie’s hands stop on Richie’s belt, and he feels his heart throb uncomfortably. “You—you what?”

“I can suck myself off,” he says as if it’s the most normal thing he could possibly say. Eddie knows he’s probably bluffing, lying to get him worked up, but it’s kind of working.

Eddie feels his cock twitch roughly. Richie must feel it too, because he says “That turn you on? You thinking about me getting it all wet for you? So you can fuck yourself on it?”

The tone of his voice has Eddie feeling lightheaded, and he lets his forehead hit Richie’s bony shoulder. He can’t help but mouth at his neck while he works Richie’s jeans down his legs, and he relishes in the sound of Richie’s hoarse groan when he grips at his cock through his boxers.

Eddie takes his time working Richie up, sucks him deep just like he likes it. Richie moans when he gags on it, threads his fingers through his hair and fucks up into his mouth. Eddie works himself open too, three spit soaked fingers fucking deep into himself while he sucks Richie off. Eddie rips open the condom with his teeth, takes it between his fingers and--

“Orange? Neon orange? Really?”

Richie just looks at Eddie like he’s stupid (and he very well may be) and says, “Go tigers?”

“I can’t believe I’m doing this shit again,” Eddie says, but he rolls the condom over Richie’s dick nevertheless. He lets his spit drip down on it, and it should be fucking disgusting but how can it be disgusting when Richie moans the way he does?

He grips onto Richie’s shoulders as he takes all of him, digging his nails roughly into the skin there. Richie’s face is bright red, cheeks blotchy and forehead all sweaty and Eddie bites back a smile. He lets his head loll back, eyes fluttering shut at the feeling of the way Richie’s stretching him. God, part of him misses this too.

“You’re so beautiful,” Richie breathes when Eddie completely sits down, moving to run his hands over Eddie’s nipples. “So fucking pretty, so perfect.” 

Eddie can’t help the moan that bubbles out of his open mouth; he holds Richie against the bed by his shoulders and starts grinding his hips in slow, deep circles. He feels so full and and Richie sounds like he’s just ran a marathon with the way he’s panting. His hands grip at Eddie’s ass roughly, his hips bucking up trying to bounce him faster but Eddie is quick to pry his hands away. 

“Control yourself or I swear to God I’ll stop,” Eddie lies. He lies because he knows that he’s too far gone to stop. They both know it. Richie just smiles smugly and tangles his skinny fingers in the sheets. 

Eddie starts to bounce with vigor now, riding Richie almost angrily. Why the fuck does he feel so mad? “Fuck, you fuck me so good, Eds. Look so hot,” Richie moans. He tries to sit up, tries to kiss at Eddie’s chest and neck but Eddie just pushes him back down flat on his back and rides his cock faster. 

“Yeah, you like it?” Eddie grits out.

Richie swallows thickly, eyes wide and he nods. Eddie’s thighs are really starting to burn with the way he’s fucking himself, so he sits up on his knees, and Richie looks up with panic in his eyes. “No, god, why’d you stop?” He pants.

“You wanna come?” Eddie asks, and he almost laughs with the way Richie nods so fast. “Fucking chase it, then.”

Eddie honestly wasn’t expecting Richie to follow his command, was expecting him to pull him down on his cock or to flip them over or something smug. Instead, his back arches off the bed embarrassingly quick, his hips fucking up into Eddie. He’s moaning, and so is Eddie because he’s going so deep that he’s fucking up against that glorious spot and all he can do is rub at his own thighs. 

Soon enough, the speed of his hips can’t keep up with his high, and Richie looks like he’s on the verge of tears. “Please, Eddie,” he sighs, out of breath and sweaty and Eddie jams his fingers into his mouth, laughs gently. “You talk too much,” he says, but settles back down snugly onto Richie’s cock and starts humping with a purpose. The headboard smacks against the wall now, loud and repetitive and Richie will probably have bruises in the morning with how hard Eddie is gripping his shoulders. 

Richie’s got his eyes closed now, head bobbing with the rhythm of Eddie riding his dick. It’s completely by mistake when Eddie meets his own eyes in the mirror, watches his own hips grind against Richie’s and he can’t hold in the groan he lets out. He looks so fucking hot, and Richie looks so fucking needy and suddenly he can’t take it.

“Fucking look,” Eddie almost whispers, moans slipping into his words. Richie’s eyes stay shut, almost as if he’s so blissed out that he can’t even hear him. “Look,” he says, a bit louder now and his hips speed up. Richie’s head lolls back this time, and Eddie can’t help but to grab a handful of his curls.

“Look!” He jerks Richie’s head back by his hair and his eyes immediately shoot open to glance at the vanity mirror. Eddie’s cock twitches at the mewl Richie lets out. “Fucking watch. You gonna come from watching me fuck myself? Huh?”

Eddie watches Richie watch the mirror, pupils blown wide and cheeks all flushed. His eyes dart from Eddie, to his own cock being bounced on to himself, and then he’s fucking gone. His hips fuck up into Eddie hard and fast and his hands shoot out to grab at Eddie’s ass to move him along his dick; Eddie lets him, either because he’s beautiful or because he’s coming or perhaps both. 

He lets Richie touch him, and he can feel his cock pulsing inside of him. Still, he watches himself in the mirror and suddenly Eddie is way too close way too fast. He rides Richie through his high, until the last of his tremors are through and then he’s standing up so fast that he goes lightheaded. 

Eddie grabs his own cock hard, grabs Richie by his hair even harder and tilts his head back roughly. Richie looks up at him through his lashes, sticks out his tongue and suddenly Eddie’s head is swimming. His breath gets knocked out of him when he comes, spurting in thick ropes over Richie’s cheeks and glasses and tongue. 

Afterwards, when they’re both lying in bed, still out of breath and still sticky, Richie says, “I’m sorry about high school.” Richie tells Eddie about how he thought he was too smart for him, about how he was only going to keep Eddie in that small town. 

“I would’ve stayed, you know, for you,” Eddie says.

“I know,” Richie says. “That’s what I was scared of.”

Eddie forgives him, and he falls asleep in Richie’s arms. It feels warm, and sweet and kind of like coming home to a place he’s never been to before. It feels like coming home, just as he’d hoped it would.

**Author's Note:**

> thank u to the pgg for fueling my disgusting thoughts ily guys with my whole heart


End file.
